


Call Off Your Ghost

by staticbees



Series: RvB Writing Challenges (Fluff Week, Bingo Wars, etc) [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Lots of Angst, M/M, Tucker is Not Having A Fun Time, copious use of wyoming's time distortion unit, time loops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 01:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10629651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: Tucker isn’t sure how long he’s been fighting for. Hargrove’s soldiers don’t give him enough time to stop, to take a breath, to rest. To grieve. They just attack and attack and attack and soon there’s nothing left but ashes and blood and a wisp of a memory, disappearing as the world fades away. No one else remembers. Maybe it’s better that way.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Knock-Knock, Agent Washington](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6940174) by [ThinkoftheWindandSun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkoftheWindandSun/pseuds/ThinkoftheWindandSun). 



> I've had this idea in my head for a while, and I finally managed to sit down and write it! The song that the fic is named after and that the lyrics at the beginning are from is Call Off Your Ghost by Dessa. I'm pretty pleased with how it came out. Sorry for the angst, haha.

_ (You once said if we were careful, _

 

_ That we could do this all our lives. _

 

_ Although one of us got clumsy, _

 

_ And both of us got wise. _

 

_ And now we're not so young, _

 

_ Seems our wishing well's gone dry.) _

 

_ * _

 

Tucker isn’t sure how long he’s been fighting for.

 

The Meta’s armor has Wyoming’s time distortion enhancement built into it, and it seems to work just like it did back in Blood Gulch. Sometimes, little things differ, like whether a soldier goes for Caboose or Grif, but most everything else stays the same. Time only resets when he’s injured, fatally or not. 

 

No one else remembers. 

 

Maybe it’s better that way.

 

He’s standing in the middle of Hargrove's trophy room, gripping his sword tightly. The Meta's armor is too big for him, tailored for a bulky frame. The teal color is comforting, but it feels unnatural, wearing the suit of a dead man. His alien plasma sword is glowing a shining white, and looking at it for longer than a second makes his eyes burn.

 

Sparks are flying from the door as Hargrove's soldiers begin to cut it open, and muffled shouting comes from behind the heavy metal door.

 

Epsilon hovers over his shoulder, pale sky-blue armor glinting in the harsh false light. Tucker glances at him, a grim smile on his face. He knows how this ends. He’s lived it more times than he can count.

 

"See you on the other side, Church," Tucker says to him.

 

He blinks, and Church is gone. It's not that he's retreated into his armor; his presence has faded from Tucker’s head. His mind feels hollow and empty, and even though he knows how it feels, knows what to expect, it’s never prepared him for the reality of losing his friend in the blink of an eye.

 

_ (It’s happening again.  _

 

_ What loop are we on? _

 

_ I don’t know.) _

 

Hargrove’s soldiers burst through the door. Tucker steels himself, lifting his sword in preparation. 

 

_ (They come from the left. _

 

_ Watch your back.) _

 

A soldier fires a burst of gunfire, and the armor actives, a bubble shield forming around him. He stabs through it, and hits the soldier in the gut, all the force of the Meta’s strength enhancement and of his rage and sorrow and fear pushed into the blow. 

 

The guard retreats, and another takes his place. Tucker stumbles sideways, into another one of Hargrove’s forces. He hasn’t memorized where each soldier is, and sometimes they catch him by surprise. He always manages to mess something up, no matter how hard he tries not to.

 

A glowing bolt of energy hits his armor, and the armor’s bubble- and over-shields short-circuit, leaving him defenseless. His active camouflage turns on, distorting his armor’s colors until they match the area behind him. The soldier looks around in confusion, shooting blind. 

 

_ (We can do this. _

 

_ Maybe this time, we can save them all.) _

 

He dodges shot after shot, hearing gunfire and shouts ringing in his ears. He pushes back the stream of panicked thoughts that bombard his mind and focuses on the fight, focuses on eliminating the threat, focuses on the fact that this is easy, he can do this. 

 

He’s so focused on what’s in front of him that he doesn’t pay attention to what’s behind. A whimper of pain meets his ears and he whips around, to see Caboose scrambling backwards from a soldier in dented and scratched armor. 

 

Tucker dashes forward, cutting through lines of enemies to reach the blue soldier. He lowers the sword and helps Caboose up, forgetting to check for enemies around him. There’s a sharp cry, and he sees an alien sword protruding from his chest, cutting jagged lines through his armor. As his vision dims, he sinks to the floor, eyes burning. 

 

_ (So this is how it ends, this time. _

 

_ I don’t think it’ll ever end.) _

 

His sight goes a stark white, and he cries out in agony, a searing heat tearing through him. He clutches his chest, gritting his teeth as the world dissolves around him. 

 

*

 

When he opens his eyes again, slowly, painfully, he’s right back where he started. In Hargrove’s trophy room, Epsilon hovering above his shoulder.

 

“Hey, uh, I just want you guys to know that, out of everyone I've ever met... I hate you all the least.” Epsilon tells them.

 

_ (Yeah, well, it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it.)  _

 

Tucker closes his eyes, focusing on the burning red behind his eyelids. “See you, Church.”

 

He opens them, and Epsilon is gone.

 

It’s worse than dying, watching Church fragment himself, over and over again. Hargrove’s soldiers don’t give him enough time to stop, to take a breath, to  _ rest.  _ To grieve. They just attack and attack and attack and soon there’s nothing left but ashes and blood and a wisp of a memory, disappearing as the world fades away.

 

_ (He tried to tell them, once, about the loops. They didn’t believe him.) _

 

The battle goes quicker, this time. He’s down on the floor, a bullet through his shoulder, and blood staining his teal armor. Caboose is crouched over him, and he smiles weakly at the cobalt soldier.

 

“It’s okay,” Tucker tells him softly, as Wyoming’s enhancement flares up around him. “It’ll all just-”

 

*

 

“-reset,” he finishes quietly.

 

Epsilon turns towards him, looking concerned. “Tucker, you okay?”

  
“I’m fine,” he answers. “Just… really tired.” He forces a smile, even though he knows Church can’t see it through his helmet, and fixes his gaze on the door. “Let’s do this.”

**Author's Note:**

> You're welcome.


End file.
